


Grief

by BasementTea



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Choking, Jaytim - Freeform, M/M, No Sex, PTSD, Smoking, art and a fic, cope fic, rape survivor tries to talk it out, recovery talk, reliving trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 12:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15930383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasementTea/pseuds/BasementTea
Summary: “Have you ever had someone choke you?” he asked after a moment. Tim blinks, before giving a slight nod, murmuring his confirmation.





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> THERE'S ART THAT GOES WITH THIS FICLET
> 
> https://basementarts.tumblr.com/post/170228735061

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

 

Jason looked over at Tim, his thumb flicking against butt of his cigarette, feeling the packed cotton fraying under his nail. He hasn’t taken a drag in a while, been too busy staring at the burning cherry, glowing hot and bright in the night’s inky black.

 

His jaw flexes, and he looked away from the teen standing beside him, tries to stop thinking about the way that they’re both positioned, leaning against the ledge of a roof, shoulders close enough that he can feel the heat off the younger man.

 

“I know.” he said dismissively.

 

He can feel Tim’s gaze on him, that piercing stare, so like Bruce in the way it could take him apart, cut him down to the quick and dissect him- “Why aren’t you, then?”

 

The words sting, and Jason swallows hard, his throat burning with way it’s so suddenly tight.

 

The cherry of the cigarette is close enough to the filter that it burns his fingers, and he drops it without care, watching the light of it extinguish somewhere beneath them, stamped out by the remnants of last night’s rain.

 

How to you tell someone that you feel like you’re choking? That every breath is a jagged, painful gasp for survival?

 

What do you say to get someone to understand that you can still feel his fingers, his mouth, his *teeth* on your skin, that you aren’t sure his hands ever actually released your throat?

 

Jason taps the bottom of his cigarette pack against the weather worn stone, his teeth aching from the way he’s grinding them together, refusing to look back up at Tim. He flicks open the top of the pack again, drawing out another cigarette. His hands are shaking, and he glares at them like he can make them stop by sheer force of will.

 

“Have you ever had someone choke you?” he asked after a moment. Tim blinks, before giving a slight nod, murmuring his confirmation. Jason doesn’t dare look, his thumb fumbling on the lighter, hearing the stuttered chk chk chk as he tries again and again to light it, and fails each time. Tim’s hand enters his vision, covering Jason’s for a warm moment, before taking the lighter away, a flame sprouting from it easily.

 

The smoke burns Jason’s lungs as he takes a drag, shooting him a small, tense smile of thanks, before resuming his study of the shadows below.

 

“Did you get to the point where you  could see your vision fading?”

 

Tim frowns and Jason can see the expression out of the corner of his eye. He forges on without waiting for an answer this time. “There’s this moment, when your vision starts going black at the edges, where you’re so fucking *aware* of what’s happening, but you have no strength anymore, and you can’t keep fighting, but you don’t want to stop fighting- and… after that, there’s this feeling… it’s not giving up, I don’t think that’s the right term for it.”

 

He takes another slow drag, and huffs the smoke out through his nose, shaking his head a bit. “It’s more like acceptance. You know you’re going to pass out, and you can’t stop it, and maybe you’ll even die, and at that split second- you’re not okay with it but you know you can’t do anything. It’s… numb. Like your fire just goes out, and you’re the smoke. A wisp left over.”

 

He clenched his jaw. “But when that moment fades, and you’re still alive, it hurts, and you’re right back to fighting, and is so exhausting.”

 

His hands are still shaking, but now that he’s talking, Jason can’t stop, and he’s too scared to see the reaction on Tim’s face to his words, so he keeps staring straight ahead, keeps talking to the shadows, like Tim’s not even there.

 

“He brought me to that place so many times, that by the end of it, I was grateful to finally die. I remember there was this point in time where I realized I wasn’t happy he hadn’t killed me, I was exhausted, and disappointed, and it took everything I had to keep myself from verbally begging for it to be over. That’s the one thing he never got from me. No matter what he did, what he took from me- I never begged.”

 

He takes a deep breath.

 

“When it finally happened, when I turned, and I saw that timer, and I knew that Bruce wasn’t going to find me, that I was about to die and leave him alone- I was ready for it. It was bitter relief. It meant it was all over and that my pain would stop.”

 

He flicks his cigarette again, watching the ashes topple off the end.

 

“I woke up in my coffin, and for the first few seconds, I thought I was back there, that it wasn’t over and I was going to have to go through it all over again. But once I figured out where I was, once I dug myself out- Tim, it hasn’t stopped. It feels like he’s still choking me. Like I can’t take a single fucking breath without it hurting like I’m still there. And I can’t tell, I can’t fucking tell, if he’s the one choking me, or if I am, if I’m doing this to myself.”

 

Tim’s hand on his arm is so warm is almost burns, and Jason inhales sharply and when he blinks, he’s not surprised at all that his lashes are wet.

 

He lets Tim guide him, to turn him to face Tim, and he’s staring at the Robin symbol on his chest instead of looking at his face, and when those perfect, beautiful hands raise and cup his cheeks, Jason drops his cigarette, not caring that it’s not even half gone. He needs to grab onto him, to hold Tim and feel his warmth and how solid he is, and force himself to remember that he’s here, he’s alive, that the Joker can’t fucking touch him.

 

The lips on his are perfect, and Jason pulls Tim tight against his body, clings to him like it’s the only thing keeping him here, keeping him alive, and he feels Tim return the kiss like he feels the same way.

 

This was what kept him going, kept him from that feeling, from dropping back into that numb, horrible place.

 

He rather have the pain, to fight for every beat of his heart and choke on every breath he took- if it meant he could stay here, with Tim.

**Author's Note:**

> I realized I forgot to post this. I put it on Tumblr, but never moved it over here.


End file.
